Blood Stained Hands
by RJLennox
Summary: The blood would never wash off, it never did. No matter how long or how hard he tried, his hands would always be stained with blood.


He knows it's not there.

It's not. _He knows_. There's nothing there, nothing on his hands. Nothing but raw skin over thin bones and pale suds that froth like foam.

But he feels it, feels the blood stinging hot and wet on his palms and coating his fingers and it _won't come off_, won't wash away even as he takes the cloth to his hands and scrubs, digs viciously into his skin to rub away what's no longer there. He can still see, as vividly as the moment it happened, the futile struggle of his squad mate as a titan bites into her head, can still hear as her skull gives way under the force and her screams gurgle into nothingness as her body goes limp.

And he can feel it, the sticky wet of blood as it spurts from where her head used to be and he's reminded viciously that if he'd just gone a little bit _sooner_, just made his decision a little bit _quicker_, done something _different_…

He breaths heavy through his nose as the look in her eyes just before giant teeth come down on her flashes through his mind and his slippery, soap covered hands turn the faucet on higher and hotter and he thrusts them beneath the flow of water. It's hot and it burns and it makes his already raw skin prickle and sear but he doesn't care because he can still see the blood and the red of it won't come off.

He knows it's not there. It's not. He knows. But he takes the cloth and bar of soap and he scrubs because it's still there anyway, it won't go away.

It never goes away.

He scrubs, scrubs until he's not sure if what he's seeing is her blood or his as he wears down his skin. The scene keeps flying through his mind, the way her head caved in under the titan's yellowed teeth, how her body twitched even as the life left her, the moment he decided to kill the creature that ate her because he owed her that for not being there to begin with, for not being quick enough.

And the blood. So much blood. So red and sticky and warm.

He'd only wanted to recover her body; she deserved to have a proper sending off, he owed her that. He'd retrieved her-because wasn't that the kind of thing he was supposed to do? But all that blood…

And now, frantic, it wouldn't fucking come off. It was there, he could see it, even though he knew it wasn't-

"_Levi_."

He tenses. He never even heard the door to the bathroom open. The cloth in one hand and soap in the other are gripped beneath his weary fingers as the voice pierces through his thoughts. It's firm and he knows without question who it is and what they want.

But don't they know that the blood won't come off?

His scrubbing doesn't slow and his teeth grit because he can hear the fall of footsteps get closer to him and he knows the other is going to stop him but he's not done because the blood is _still on his hands_, and he still knows that it's not actually there but it _still_ won't go away.

A hand falls on his shoulder and he almost falters. But the blood's not gone and even through the protests coming from his hands he continues to scrub because he's not going to stop until he's rid of it, even if he has to scrub away his own hands to stumps, to useless knobs of flesh and bone and—

_"Levi_." The voice repeats and the hand grips his shoulder tighter. He can feel the press of a larger body at his back as the other hand reaches around him, and settles on the hand that grips the cloth pressing to his skin. The larger fingers curl around his, stop his movements and the abuse being dealt to his own hands. "Levi. Enough. It's fine now. It's gone. See? Look. Look, it's not there, not anymore."

Look, it's not there, not anymore.

But it is. He can see it, _can't he_? As he stares down at his hand dwarfed beneath the other, the blood is still there...red… warm… even though it's not actually there, it still stains his hands and he needs to… he has to…

His hand flexes beneath the other's fingers.

"Erwin…" His voice isn't pleading, but it's desperate, because he knows the man must realize must understand, that the blood just won't go awaybecause it never goes away. Erwin has to understand, doesn't he?

"Levi, please. This is enough."

He doesn't realize that he's been holding in a breath until he has to suck one in following the other's words. His grip on the cloth and soap begin to loosen, but even then his head shakes back and forth in denial.

He knows it's not there. It's not. He knows.

But he's still not washed the blood from his hands.

Erwin's body holds his in place until the grasp he has on the cloth and soap lax enough for them to fall into the basin before him. He stands, slumped and his shoulders weighted in defeat. He's not done, doesn't Erwin realize that, doesn't the man know... he has to finish… washing the blood from his hands…?

The hand on his shoulder loosens, and Levi almost convinces himself that Erwin is going to leave him to his own devices for once before he's gently turned around to face the man behind him. He stares blankly at the white-clothed chest in front of him, willing himself to avoid looking at his hands by fixating on Erwin's maneuver gear straps because he can't stand the thought of the blood that is-but-isn't there on his hands. He's given a moment, and then another, before Erwin brings a hand under his chin to tilt his head upward. Levi's eyes trail up his torso, along his throat and finally up to his face where grey eyes meet blue. He stares, unfocused at Erwin before looking beyond to the wall behind. He can't look at Erwin, he can't face the man… not with the blood on his hands.

Erwin doesn't force his head to turn to look at him. But then, Erwin never does. Erwin lets him stare off to the wall as he rubs soft circles into his chin, onto his cheek. They're soothing despite the callouses that grace the tips of Erwin's fingers and eventually Erwin's other hand comes to rest at his hip, softly rubbing circles there too as Levi stands unmoving and limp beneath his hands.

"It's ok" falls from Erwin's lips as soft as down feathers against his ears and the caress of reassurance eventually pulls him gently to look at Erwin in the eyes once more.

"It's ok," he repeats. "Yeah…"

But his hands are still stained with blood.


End file.
